


Home

by paupotter_4869



Category: Homeland
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comfort, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluffy, Intelligence Agent, Married Life, New Beginnings, So Married, domestic life, happiness, just needed to write something else between the two, just some fluffy happy and comfort for these two who deserved the WORLD, mission, representative brody, something happy and cute that kind of brushes off their awful ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 23:19:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17476850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paupotter_4869/pseuds/paupotter_4869
Summary: Homeland s2 AU. Earlier in the season, Brody and Jessica decide to split up for everyone's sake. Brody goes to live with Carrie, Mike moves in with Jessica and the kids and everyone tries to move on with their lives.Just an attempt at writing a somewhat happy life where Carrie and Brody get what they deserved, move in together and try to balance their crazy schedules somehow.Orginally planned to be a one-shot work only but I've got some surprises in store !





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Story and characters belong to Showtime.
> 
> Because I love these two and still wish they'd be together. Enjoy !

He puts the reverse and makes the last maneuvers by memory already, however tired, with uncanny ease and ability--avoiding by far that damned bin that dented the car the very fist time he tried to park in that one spot. He grabs the jacket from the back seats and locks the car climbing up the stairs of the apartment he can almost call his own already, but he still rings the bell. 

It takes Carrie less than a minute to come to the door, although she doesn’t open as well the screen mesh. Brody could get it open from the outside, but since Carrie leans against the doorframe with that adorable smile, he remains on the porch outside. 

“One little deduction before you come in,” she says. 

“Please, Carrie,” scowls Brody, dropping his head, kicking the ground, “I’m beat.” 

“Yeah, I figured that one too,” chuckles Carrie, not moving aside from the door still, and Brody would never dream of pushing her into anything. “Just--you didn’t sop by the store, did you?” 

“Fuck me,” scowls Brody a second time, now dropping the car keys. This morning he promised he’d buy some groceries on the way back home--what feels like days ago happened only sixteen hours earlier? “I’ll be back in a jiffy.” 

Now does Carrie open the screen mesh to grab his wrist, all while chuckling. 

“Calm down, Marine. Stores are already closed,” she says, pulling him into the apartment and shutting the door behind him. “We’ll just improvise.” 

Accepting defeat, Nick drops the keys on the bowl by the entrance and throws the jacket over the armchair, following Carrie into the kitchen as he unties his tie and unbuttons the first two buttons of his shirt. Damn it, it’s all coming back to him now--Carrie wanted onions and potatoes for tonight’s dinner. He can’t help but check the hour in the kitchen’s clock and scowls again when confirms that he will not be able to find a single store open this late. 

“What gave me away?” he asks. 

Carrie smirks, although she doesn’t look away from the fires. “You didn’t come in with any paper bags, you know.” 

Quite stupidly, Brody looks down on his hands to confirm Carrie’s words: he only showed up to the doorstep with his keys and his jacket, nothing else. A simple enough realization that makes him burst out laugh. 

“Yeah, not really the deduction of a super CIA agent, huh?” nods Carrie as she starts laughing too. 

After a minute or so they both settle, leaning on the countertop, close enough for their fingers to scrape one another. They both look down on their hands. Brody starts by caressing the side of Carrie’s hand with his little finger. She proves soon enough that two can play at that game as she moves her hand all the way up Brody’s arm--and all too soon they’ve got their hands tangled in each other’s hair, as they greet each other properly with a warm, long, passionate kiss. 

Brody’s the first to break it, but not to step away, as he keeps a tight hold on Carrie and speaks merely inches from her mouth, his breath warming her lips. 

“What’s going to happen to dinner? Should I order in?” 

Before he gets an answer, the melody of his cellphone rings, making Brody groan and Carrie laugh, leaning away, head tilted backwards, in a speechless complaint. They pull away slowly, only because the ringtone is just painful to the ears, and Carrie throws away the napkin she’d been holding all this time while Brody returns to the living room and grabs his jacket, taking the cell out of the inner pocket. 

“It’s Dana,” says Brody when he checks the ID caller, proving that he cannot not answer it, sending an apologetic smile across the pass-through window. 

“Take it, I’ll order a pizza or something,” says Carrie from the kitchen standing. 

“Maybe Chinese this time, for a change?” suggests Brody, prompting another chuckle from Carrie, just before he finally picks up the phone with a bit too much joy and eagerness given the hour. “Hey, Dana--what’s up?” 

When he hangs up the phone fifteen minutes later, after talking both to Dana and Chris and giving well-wishes for Jessica and Mike as well, Brody joins Carrie on the couch and gladly accepts the glass of wine she offers him. Despite their best efforts for the past few weeks to eating better and taking the time to cook at home, there’s always something in the way--even if it is somebody forgetting to do the shopping. What with their schedules, it is difficult for both of them to coincide at home at regular dinner timetables, much less trying to organize a real dinner for one or two people--it’s not worth the effort. 

However, they have been eating a little bit too much of Chinese food lately, and Carrie surprises Brody with Mexican food this time. 

Dinner doesn’t last long--and they can’t just keep their eyes open for a meaningless chitchat when they’re finished eating. Despite Carrie’s investigation on Abu Nazir’s network clearly interests Brody, and despite the fact that Carrie doesn’t mind it either when Brody talks about politics and the suffocating environment he lives in day in and day out, they just can’t stay awake for one more minute--not even to throw away the plastic containers the food was brought in, leaving it all laying around in the living room for whoever’s got the energy to pick it up in the morning. 

They do take the time to get undressed, but they don’t even bother with either their pajamas. In bed they’re just too beat to go beyond some simple, tired kisses on the lips, cheeks and necks--there’s no possible chance of actually moving the snogging a step further and reaching the ˝final base”. Before they notice it, they’re both sound asleep in each other’s arms. 

However, they agree on something: when a cellphone’s melody raises into their subconscious, they know they haven’t slept nearly as much as they needed. Suspicions are confirmed when Brody checks the alarm clock and realizes it’s been merely four hours since their heads touched the pillows. 

Carrie rolls over to the other side and Brody just lets himself fall on the floor and look for the cellphone in the dark, looking for those crumpled trousers and the cell phone, picking up just to make the damned melody stop ringing in their heads. 

“Yes,” he greets, all sleepy still. 

“Brody,” scowls Saul at the other end of the line--impossible not to recognize that voice, “what the fuck are you doing answering Carrie’s phone?” 

“Carrie,” Brody calls out, completely awake now, forcing the poor woman to jump out of bed and almost meet face-first on the floor as she tries to get out of the mess of their blankets. “I thought this was my cell,” he says, both to Carrie and Saul. 

No one pays him any more attention, as Saul would have preferred not to hear any of those words and Carrie’s too concerned for the call--she turns her back to Brody and goes to the corner of the room just to greet Saul in a whisper. Knowing he’s intruding and it’d do him, or no one for that matter, any good hearing the conversation, Brody turns on a bedside light to search for his shirt and housecoat and gets out of the bedroom, making sure to shut the door behind him. 

He walks through the apartment almost as if he had a foot in the grave already, his step slow and lazy, the house and the whole street completely quiet and undisturbed, once more, by the irregular and unbelievable schedules of the household. 

As he heads for the kitchen, the mess they left earlier in the living room catches his eye and, sighing deeply, he redirects his steps--disbelieving one of them should be picking it all up and cleaning the place so soon after they had dinner. He throws it all away on the trash can without too much contemplation, the lights hurting his eyes as he turns the kitchen’s neons on. 

Knowing what kind of conversation Saul and Carrie are having--well, he’s not an expert CIA profiler, but he can guess the implications the call will have on Carrie’s schedules--the only reason why Brody has really left the bedroom is to prepare a good breakfast for the woman. There’s a ninety-eight percent possibility she has to hurry back to the CIA headquarters, and he won’t allow her to leave without eating anything. He’s had his share of conversations from Carrie’s sister to know Carrie shouldn’t skip any meals, for her own sake. 

Although it’s not only due to Maggie’s recommendations that he’s preparing a fast and easy breakfast at quarter past two in the morning. Any human being needs to eat breakfast, the most important meal of the whole day, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t see to Carrie to eat something before leaving. It’s just common courtesy and caring about a loved one. Luckily, they might suck at dinner or lunch, but cereals, biscuits, milk or uogurts will never lack in their kitchen and so Brody can patch up quite the meal in the shortest of times. 

As he’d predicted, Carrie shows up running, half-dressed, and stops on the other side of the pass-through window while putting on her earrings, only one shoe on. 

“Brody, I’m sorry, but--” 

“You’re not going anywhere without eating anything,” scowls the man, turning around to show her a yogurt mixed with cereals that she’s taking the time to eat here, and a couple toasts she can eat on the drive in. He’s not budging on this one. Whatever happened can give Carrie a couple of extra minutes. “Come on, sit down.” 

“Brody--” she sighs deeply, tilting her head to show the exasperation. 

“You’ll be no good for Saul or the CIA if you pass out because of starvation,” replies Brody, doing his best not to point out what would happen if Carrie were to pass out due to exhaustion. He swallows back those words and rests the yogurt, filled to the brim, in front of Carrie, leaning on the countertop to prove that for once, Carrie’s going to lose if she engages this battle. 

“One minute,” she gives in easily, taking a seat. 

“Counting the seconds,” Brody nods in approval, “and the spoonfuls, missus.” 

Carrie finishes the yogurt in record time--seriously, one day the judges need to time her eating when she’s in a hurry for some forsaken CIA secret investigation or mission--with a sly smile on her lips as she keeps her eyes on Brody, him standing there in front of her to make sure she doesn’t fly away before the agreed moment. When she’s finished it, Carrie hands him back the yogurt for him to check that she indeed finished it all and he puts it back on the sink. By then, Carrie’s jumped of the stool and put on the remaining earring. 

Slowly, not as awake as Carrie could be, Brody comes out of the kitchen to take Carrie’s coat out of the wardrobe for her, as she straps on her boots and puts on a necklace, one that he actually gave her not too long ago. 

“Will you be able to go back to sleep?” asks Carrie, voice tainted with concern, as Nick helps her into the coat. 

“I might try,” concedes Brody, handing her the couple toasts for the ride too, “although I’ve got work to do, so I might as well take advantage of being awake and all.” 

“Sorry,” Carrie apologizes, leaning in for what was supposed a brief kiss--only, Brody holds her for just a second too long, but it’s just to wipe some yogurt off her chin, and releases her immediately afterwards. Doesn’t want to lose his head for holding her back a second longer than necessary. 

“For waking me or for leaving me?” he demands to Carrie’s back. 

She chuckles again as she grabs her backpack, the front door already open, letting in a cold breeze of air that makes them both shiver. 

“Guess you’ll have to figure it out by yourself,” she winks at him, one toast on her mouth already. “Please do not kill any politician today or my day will get a whole lot longer.” 

“And you try not to get yourself killed,” Brody snaps back in return--it’s just a recurring joke of them that comes up quite often when they come back home exhausted, which is nearly every day of the week. “Good luck.” 

“See you later,” Carrie bids farewell, disappearing out of the door and slamming it close behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably will write more on C/B in the future... It's just painful to rewatch the tv show knowing how it's going to end and I'm still kind of in denial ^^"


	2. Chapter 2

“No good?” Nick asks, pointing with his head at the hamburger half eaten on Dana's dish. As he's trying to finish his own plate, Dana's been for the past few minutes staring blankly at him, her arms crossed over the table, without bothering to pretend to eat the fries. 

“No, Dad, it's alright,” she lies without looking up. 

“You're not hungry, then?” 

The way she pierces him with her glare, he'd have been that much safer and comfortable without ever seeing it on her daughter's eyes. 

“Yeah, Dad, let's just keep pretending that my not eating has anything to do with me not being hungry and not the reporters out there,” she scowls. 

“Hey,” he begs of her, lowering her voice, “I'm trying here. I'm real sorry but this is the new normal for us now.” 

“Oh yeah? And tell me, why didn't Chris come?” 

Nicholas just drops his head at that, trying not to look hurt. The reporters outside would have a field day if that got caught on camera. It does hurt that Chris couldn't come, but he can't show it. He understands, after all. The dozen reporters taking pictures from the windows, the dozen Secret Service agents covering the restaurant and the workers and other customers gawking at them every so often, unsure if stop by and ask Nicholas for a photograph and maybe an autograph, do not really set the proper mood for any kind of father-daughter relationship. But just because he knows how important family is--and because prioritizing family is still one of the bullet point to  VP's Walden running for POTUS--he just cannot let his bond with Dana deteriorate. The press just had a field day with his and Jessica's separation already; the hero returned after years of imprisonment to a devoting wife and family just to get divorced a few months later. He needs to keep a low profile--for his life, for his family's lives, for his undercover work as a CIA agent sake. Which means making an effort even when he himself didn't want to do, eating in a disgusting fast food restaurant close to their place. Chris was the smartest after all for not coming. 

“I know this isn't ideal. But you have to understand. I'm a political figure now, there's some level of notoriety and publicity linked to it that--” 

“Oh, really? What would all these people think if they knew just a few months ago you were just about to blow up a dozen of our most important political figures--?” 

“Dana,” he interjects, hoping he was fast enough to stop her before any of the lip-reading reporters got a whim of what she was saying. Appropriately, Dana looks down on her food. She really didn't mean it,  Brody knows that and won't hold it against her. She even attempts to eat a couple more fries. 

Meal doesn't last for much longer; as soon as Brody's finished with his hamburger he asks for the bill and soon after that they're leaving the diner, provided the SS escorting them outside, covering them from the reporters and then following his car to his former place tp drop Dana. 

“I'll see you Friday, okay? I promise it's going to be just us,” he says as Dana picks up her schoolbag. 

“Can't wait,” she scowls. 

“Kiss your brother for me,” he begs. 

“As if,” Dana mutters, rolling her eyes. 

“Looking forward to Friday! It's going to be pizza and movie night!” Body can just put in before Dana slams the car door without saying a word. She crosses the street and enters her house with the same cold treatment towards her father--she just doesn't look above her shoulder once, nor does she wave goodbye at him from the threshold. 

Brody sighs deeply, hitting the steering wheel. This is harder and harder by the day. Working side by side with Walden. Trying to fix the relationship with his kids just for appearances--and they can tell the difference. Running for a political position he does not care at all. He hopes that when they’re finally free of Abu Nazir’s influence and that whole chapter of his life things will get better, but to some extent he knows he’s just dreaming without hoping--Abu Nazir’s capture, or death, won’t magically solve his problems with Jessica, Dana and Chris. It’ll be just another day of his harsh and difficult life. And in the meantime, he’s still just playing a part. Is any aspect of his new life true anymore? 

The answer, per usual, awaits him at home. Whatever else has happened, whatever he's feeling through, he knows for a fact that this is true, pure, that Abu Nazir cannot touch and corrupt this--because he's already tried and they've come to the other side stronger. Carrie keeps him whole. 

And the fact that she's not home yet does affect him greatly. He chekcs the cell phone as he drops his jacket and tie over the sofa. He got a short three-sentences message from Carrie when he was driving Dana home. 

_“Late meeting. Don't wait up. Lov u.”_

Those last two words, two syllables really, do wonders for his state of mind and he drops on the sofa with the briefest smile on his lips. He rereads the message over and over as he reaches our for the controller and turns on the TV. He doesn't really care if it's news or the History Channel--as he'd hoped, he falls asleep within fifteen minutes. 

And Carrie, when she finally comes home, stumbles upon him in that same exact position: head dropped to the back, the controller dropped from his hand on the floor, a little stream of saliva drooling from the corner of his mouth. He wakes up in a jolt at her caressing his shoulder and when, a couple seconds later, he realizes it's just Carrie and not Abu Nazir or any other CIA agent sent to interrogate him for whatever reason, he breathes normally again. Carrie switches on a lamplight as he turns off the TV. 

“How was your meeting?” he asks, rubbing his eyes, his voice slow. 

“Confidential,” she says with an apologetic smile. “And your dinner?” 

“Catastrophic,” he summarizes in a single word, just like Carrie did. She reaches out a hand to caress his arm, in a gesture of comprehension and compassion--they both know he's got no other choice than to cope with it. “Have you had dinner?” 

“I ate at the Agency.” 

“Nevertheless, let me fix you something. God knows what you're offered over there.”

“No, Brody, please don't,” she begs, holding him by the arm as he tried to stand, pulling him back on the sofa. “Please, let's just stay here.”

He chuckles as he abides her command, resting one hand on her thigh, the other on her hair, caressing her skull, hoping it could work too for the migraine he knows she's suffering from. 

“You know what's going to happen if we stay here,” he warns, slightly amused tone. 

“I can't move,” she complains and laughing softly, he welcomes her into his arms. They will end up asleep right there on the sofa, fully dressed, again. Not that they have any problems about it right now--only their backs and creased suits will in the morning. 

“Fine. You win.” 

“Not that you were such a strong opponent,” she remarks, resting her head against his shoulder. “By the way, just so you know. . . I might have to leave for a special ops in a couple of weeks.” 

“Go where?” he demands, completely awake now. He's already in two minds about calling Carrie's sister and ask her opinion about the subject. Routine and as close to normal schedules is what works for Carrie. Leaving the country for a special job on the field is kind of the opposite to what she's recommender for her condition. 

“Middle East. I'm sorry I can't be more specific. But it's very important, Brody, you know it is.” 

“It always is,” he says. “When will you put your own health before your work?” 

“When the 327 million people living in the States are safe from harm.” 

He scowls at that. She might as well have answered with a single adverb--never. “And what about the well-being of a very special lady?” 

“I'm fine, Brody,” she promises, taking his hand in hers. “It's going to be OK.” 

“You better hope so, or I'll have to have a word with Saul and the rest of them.” 

“Maybe tomorrow,” she says, already on the edge of falling asleep--the fact thst she didn't disagree with him a clear indicator that she's nearly out of it already. They will have a word about it in the morning and every morning after that till the day she leaves for that forsaken mission, Brody can tell--but for the moment, both of them need their sleep. He bends to kiss her on the forehead, grabs a blanket for the two of them and stretches as much as he can, trying to find a somewhat comfortable position, while not waking Carrie up.


	3. Chapter 3

Even though he left the car at the empty spot closest to the bar entrance, he still gets his head, coat and shirt soaked by the time he steps into the bar. He shakes off his jacket and hangs it from the hanger, running a hand through his dripping hair, and heads for the bar counter. 

Mike’s already there--trust the man to always be on time, even with the unpredicted rain falling--sipping on his beer. 

“Hey, man,” Brody greets, sitting by his side. After shaking hands, and laughing because of Mike getting all wet at his touch, Brody takes a napkin and tries to dry his face, hands and hair. Uselessly. “Sorry I’m late.” 

“No trouble. Sorry I didn’t wait you,” replies Mike, signaling for the bartender to approach. “What’re you having? I’m paying.” 

“A Lager, please. You better be paying.” 

“Come on now. Who gets the bigger check between the two of us?”

“Are we really turning this into a cock fight less than two minutes after we met?” demands Brody, tired voice. They hold their stares for a second, then burst out laughing again. When the bartender brings his beer, they patch it all up with a toast. 

“Congratulations, man.” 

“Thank you. Thanks for inviting me out,” appreciates Brody, looking around at one of their favorite spots to drink at. This is what it used to be like with them, back in the day--before they got deployed again, he got captured and everything went to Hell. Many times on their birthdays they came here to celebrate over a less than healthy dinner and a huge amount of beers. Only, back in the day it used to be more than just the two of them. In spite of the rain, or maybe because of it, the place is rather crowded, and wherever a lot of people meet to drink there’s also rattle and noise from the music, the loud conversations and the occasional brawls or roars of laughter, the TV on the corner with some game of basketball and the groups of friends playing pool. 

“Oh, before I forget. Jess needs you to sign this,” Mike says, dragging Brody back to the present. 

“What is it?” he asks, already fishing for his pen somewhere in his pocket. 

“Permission for Chris’ graduation trip.” 

“Right, to Europe, wasn’t it,” nods Brody, reading the slip briefly before signing it, and then stopping at the scheduled date. “He’s leaving in just two months? Man, they first told us about the trip at the beginning of the year. . . Time does fly.” 

“You saying that because the election is only six months from today?” 

“Oh, don’t remind me, please. If it were for me, I’d pull out of the race right now.” 

“You don’t really mean it,” dares Mike with a sip of his beer.

“Yes, I do. I am going to quit eventually.”

“Why not do it, then?” his friend asks. 

His beer forgotten mid-air, Brody drops his arm on the bar and hides his eyes from Mike, unable to find words. He could never tell him it’s because of the CIA and the deal he made with them so long ago--they still need him in good terms with Walden. Someone is yet to explain the reasons why. 

Mike, however, seems to understand something's fishy about it all and nods respectfully. This time, he won't dig into it. He knows Brody means no harm to Jessica and the kids. 

“You’re always saying you want to change how things are. You’re in a perfect position to do it.”

“I don’t really think VicePresident Walden will appreciate my take on terrorism and war,” scowls Brody. “I’m anti war in a party who's declared war against terrorism. I never should have gone that last tour--Lauder was right on that account.”

Mike nearly chokes on his drink. “Never thought I'd hear you saying the words ‘Lauder was right’ in your fucking life.” 

“Well, credit where it’s due,” sighs Brody, tilting his head. “Don’t ever tell him I said so, though.”

“Not a problem. My lips are sealed,” promises Mike, celebrating with another sip of beer. 

“Seriously, I’ve no idea of what I’ve gotten myself into this time. I’m no politician--you bloody well know that. What the hell am I doing in Cabinet, working for the fucking VP?” 

“Making a mistake. Like the ones you’ve been doing all your forsaken life,” Mike answers for him. 

“I’ll drink to that,” he scowls, clinking their beer bottles before taking another sip. 

After drinking two more beers apiece, Mike finally agrees to pay the bill himself and they stand to leave, agreeing the hour to be too late for a game of pool. They say goodbye shaking hands by the door, as they put on their coats, and then venture into the pouring rain. 

Brody gets to his car soaking wet again and takes a few seconds to catch his breath and wipe of his brow and hair. A car drives past him, honking and flashing, and Brody waves goodbye at Mike once more. Soon after his friend’s car has vanished, he turns on the key and heads home too.

Once more, the lights are out and, despite the hour, Brody knows Carrie hasn’t come to sleep at home tonight either--the first one in usually leave the entrance lamp on to let the other know they’re home. Lately Brody’s been waking up with that lamp still turned up, which means Carrie has spent almost four nights a week at the CIA. This operation in the Middle East better be worth it. 

He drops on the couch, too tired to make it to the master bedroom, and takes off his tie. Out of habit he reaches a hand to turn on the lamp to his left, but when it doesn't work he remembers the bulb blew a couple days ago. Which reminds him the washing machine hasn’t been working either. In a scowl, he drops his head to the side. After spending all day worrying about some infrastructure three States away from Washington DC and the troops fighting halfway across the world, mundane things from home seem so trivial and barely worth fixing. Of course, that's what's been telling himself and his sorry ass for not making time to stop by the store for new bulbs or to call a technician. 

It wouldn’t have taken a professional CIA agent to predict he’d end up falling asleep on the couch, and when he wakes up--the sky finally clear of those dark clouds, but the sun is still not up yet--his neck and back ache because of the uncomfortable position. Groaning, he stands, stretches a bit and goes searching the perfect remedy: coffee. 

His phone starts ringing and he checks the hour: if it’s his secretary Betsy, he is going to fire her. But then the ID caller tells him it's Jessica and he picks it up immediately--she’s not calling at 6am to congratulate him for his birthday. 

“Jess?”

“Brody.” Her voice startles him, making him stand from the coffee table, all his muscles tense, holding his phone hard against his ear and the coffee mug shaking in his other hand. There’s an underlying terrified tone in his ex-wife's voice, but she’s still trying to keep it cool--because she’s calling with their children present. 

“What’s happened?” he demands. A hundred different scenarios run through his mind in a matter of seconds, only one prayer: do not let it be Abu Nazir. Do not let it be. . . 

“Dana has been complaining of stomach ache since yesterday night. Now she says she can’t bear it anymore, so I’m taking her to the hospital.” 

Oh, thank God. The relief runs through his spine and he drops the coffee mug to rub his teary eyes. He can barely believe he needs to worry about a stomach ache, but it’s only a stomach ache. Not a terrorist attack, not a kidnapping, or. . . Dear Lord, the horrifying possibilities. 

“Is Mike with you?” 

“He had to go in early today for a meeting.” 

“Okay, I’m leaving the house right now,” promises Brody, grabbing his car and house keys. He only stops to turn off that lamp by the entrance and then dashes towards the car. “Where’re you taking her?” 

“Georgetown University Hospital.” 

“I’ll meet you there in ten minutes. It’s going to be alright, Jess, I promise,” he adds as he turns on the engine. 

“Yes,” nods Jessica, unable to say anything more specific. He understands. 

“Listen, I’ve got to hang up now, but I’ll see you in a minute, OK? Hang in there. Dana’s going to be fine, she really is.” 

He feels badly hanging up on her, but he beeds to take care of a few things and it’s best to get them over with on his way to the hospital and then give his family his undivided attention. And so, hoping she won’t kill him for the untimely hour, he calls Betsy to check his agenda for the day. In the end, they agree she’ll cancel all of his mornings appointments and if need be, also the afternoon, but Brody can’t shake off doing a few phone calls from the hospital. Still, it’s better than nothing. 

They’ve taken Dana to the VIP wing and that’s where she meets Jessica, who hugs him deeply as soon as he's close enough. 

“Hey, it’s OK, it’s OK,” Brody whispers time and time again, as Jessica shivers in his arms, trying to control the sobbing--for Chris is standing down there. “What did the doctors say?” 

“They need to run a few tests, but they think it might be her appendix.” 

“Then it’s just going to be a minor procedure,” says Brody. “She’ll be back home in no time. And she’s not going to miss that many days from school, she'll catch up. Everything’s going to be OK, Jess. D’you hear me? She’s going to be OK.” 

He keeps repeating that mantra for a minute or two, then slowly pulls Jessica away in order to greet his son in his arms too. Rather than worried, he’s more tired than anything--he’s just probably having a hard time processing what’s going on or why they are in a hospital at six in the morning. Brody chuckles and takes him to one of the plastic chairs before he drops somewhere. 

“Can we see her?” he asks then. 

“Not yet,” says Jessica, arms crossed in an attempt to maintain body warmth. Immediately Brody takes off his jacket and hands it to her--she takes it with an appreciative smile. 

One hour later two nurses finally take Dana back on a stretcher. They take her to the room and Brody winks at her, but stays behind to talk to the doctors. They can confirm their earlier statement: it is appendicitis. They’ve scheduled the operation for late in the evening, which means Brody will skip his agenda for the whole day. The doctor leaves after shaking hands with Brody and expressing what an honor it is to meet him personally. Afterwards, he steps into the room while Jessica calls Mike to give him the news. 

The way Dana looks, it’s almost a miracle he finds her awake still--but when she sees him stepping in, she tries to stand a bit for him. He makes a gesture for her to lie down again, and rests his hand on her shoulders. 

“Hey, pumkin. How’re you feeling?” asks Brody slowly and softly. 

“Tired,” she smiles back. “I’m not in pain, so that’s great.” 

“Doctors said you got yourself appendicitis.”

“So I’ve heard,” nods her, the glimmer of a smile on her lips. 

“You’ve got a scheduled trip to the OR this evening.”

“Great. Can’t wait,” she tries to laugh, but stops abruptly, holding her side. Brody apologizes immediately, caressing his daughter’s cheek tenderly, hoping he could do something, anything, to ease the pain. 

“Can I get you anything?” 

“I’m thirsty.” 

“Sorry, I meant something material, like a stuffed animal or something.” 

“Dad,” she scowls. 

“Doctors say you can’t eat anything before the operation,” explains Brody apologetically. 

“So no birthday cake today, huh?” 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes deeply and truly, because Dana never misses the chance for a birthday cake. “We’ll celebrate it properly in a couple of days,” he says, caressing her arm. She’s dozing off and he remains silent, letting her fall asleep if that's what she needs. Per Jessica’s tale, Dana didn’t get much sleep last night. 

Her dozing off means that Brody does need to take care of a few phone calls, however. Making sure Jessica stays with Dana, he comes out to the hallway and attends to a call from Walden and then a couple of Cabinet ministers. They all promise they understand his situation and him staying at the hospital for his daughter, and yet they don’t give him a day off and hammer his brain with facts and figures he’s too beat and preoccupied to remember or care for. The one phone call he appreciates receiving is Carrie’s--he answers with warmer voice and a soft smile. 

“Hey, you. Still at the Agency?” 

“Yes, but I’ve just heard about Dana,” she says. Brody tries to swallow the complaint about CIA agents still keeping track of him and his family--where Abu Nazir is concerned, they might prove useful in the end. 

“Yes. Thank you for calling.” 

“How’s she?” 

“They’re operating her this evening, if all goes to plan. I’m going to stay here with her until the Secret Service agents drag me back to the Capitol, if you don’t mind.”

“No, of course not, you should be with them. Just keep me posted, I’ll talk to you soon.” 

“Yeah, keep in touch, OK? And stop by home to get some sleep.”

“I’ll try,” Carrie says before hanging up--leaving Brody no room to demand a more concise answer. She’s been telling him that for days on end and she’s still a no show at home. That couch on the office better be comfortable. 

However brief the conversation, he feels much better now after talking it out with Carrie and checking that she survived another all-nighter at the Agency. When someone pats him on the back, he turns around with a smile. 

“Hey, Dad,” Chris greets him. “Congrats.” 

With that last word, he shows the hand he'd been hiding behind his back, presenting his father with a stuffed bear wearing a military attire. Brody chuckles as he takes the bear. 

“Well, thank you, Chris,” he laughs, when he sees on one of the paws the name of the hospital. “You didn’t just buy this at the shop.” 

“Well, sorry, Dad, but this whole emergency kinda caught us off guard. We’ve got our real present back at home.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t need any other presents after this one. Come here,” says Brody, pulling him in for a big bear hug. “Thanks, Chris.”

He then checks the hour--if hospitals gift shops are open already, so are high schools. 

“Ready for a ride to school?” 

“Come on, Dad, seriously?” scowls Chris. “I slept like five hours!” 

“Who’s having their appendix removed today, you or your sister? You certainly aren’t,” replies Brody before his son tries to find some excuse. “Come on, let’s go say goodbye to your mother and Dana--you need to stop by your place and change.” 

“This is _so_ incredibly unfair,” scowls Chris, heading, in spite of his protests, to his sister’s room. As Chris complains to her sister, Brody takes Jessica aside. 

“Taking him to school, he’s already missed first period,” he explains. “I’ll be back in less than one hour, will you be alright?”

“Yes,” nods Jessica, looking over her children quarreling with a smile--some things will never change, and that’s a relief. Seeing them fighting each other instead of their parents lately has been a nice change of pace after they got divorced. “Thank you for being here.” 

“There’s no other place I could be right now, Jess,” he replies, squeezing her hand. “You’re my family, you’ll forever be. I’m here for whatever you need, you know that.”

She nods in response, awkwardly avoiding his eye. He sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose in regret. He was just trying to prove he can do better than he’s done since he got back, that they can rely and count on him whenever they need him--did he have to make things complicated now that they were doing just fine? He prefers avoiding the mine field today. They’re all too tired and stressed for it. Instead, he just addresses his son. 

“Chris! Let’s go, come on,” he orders, and despite all his yells and protests, Chris does leave the room and waits for him out in the hall, head dropped, trying to emotionally blackmail his father. He grins--he won’t fall for it. Brody waves at Dana. “Dana, I’ll see you in a little while. Stay put, OK? No marathons today.” 

“I can promise you I’m not moving from this bed,” she says, tired voice, waving goodbye at them both. Brody looks back at her over his shoulder as he leaves--if he finds her sound asleep by the time he gets back, he’ll be the happiest father in the world.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chronologically, this chapter would take place at the ending of s2 ep 11

Abu Nazir is dead. 

Doesn’t matter how many times Brody says those words, a hundred, three thousand, even if he yells that sentence from the rooftops till he’s completely hoarse or writes it down in a hundred pieces of paper--it still feels surreal. 

Carrie’s fucking achieved it. He hasn’t been given any specifics, of course, but he can tell it was her. She did it. She fucking did it. Freed them all from Abu Nazir. After being captured herself by that terrorist, after Brody was forced to kill Vicepresident Walden, she still went ahead and managed to get the world rid of Nazir. 

Saved herself. Saved Brody. Saved Brody’s family. Saved the whole damn country from an attack on US soil. No wonder she should be considered the fucking best intelligence officer they’ve got. Because she is. 

Abu Nazir is dead. 

They are free from Nazir. The mission’s over, the deal’s done, the pressure’s gone, he’s through with the lies and and the double-crossing and everything else. He can leave politics, leave Washington, go somewhere he’ll never be found, either by the press, the CIA or Abu Nazir’s network. He doesn’t care to ponder right now, he just knows there’s a whole range of possibilities for him--for him and Carrie. It’s all behind them now. 

He pulls to a stop, parks, and stays there in the darkness--the car of the Secret Service tailing him for protection stopping right behind him. He can deal with them for a little while longer. He can cope with everything, at this very moment. 

A black SUV he knows passes by them without noticing Brody in the car, or the SS agents behind him. The SUV then turns at the number 3319, the protection detail parking by the sidewalk. Mike, Jessica and the kids come out of the first vehicle. They all look unscathed--tired, perhaps, Brody grants. As Dana and Chris head directly towards the house, the former shivering with the excitement of being back home, Jessica goes meet whoever’s in the second car, to thank them their work, guesses Brody, and Mike waits for her in the middle of the lawn. 

Having her closer now, under the light of a streetlamp, Brody gets a better glimpse of Jessica. She’s smiling at the SS agents, buts judging by her body language, her tense shoulders, the way she holds onto the bag on her shoulder, he can tell she’s still tense and worried. She’s got a right to be. 

Brody sighs deeply, holding onto the steering wheel with regret. She’s been through a lot because of him these past months. Ever since he go back, her life turned upside down again, things went array. Not without regret and remorse, in retrospection they both know that splitting up was the best thing they could have done at the moment. For themselves, for their children, for everyone. Maybe not for Walden’s plans, but Brody couldn’t care less about Walden’s feelings and opinions concerning his private life. And Jessica deserved better than him. She’ll forever be his first love and the mother of his children, they’ll never say that marrying and having Chris and Dana was a mistake, but it it was time for them both to move on. If she’s happier with Mike. . . So then be it. 

The second car finally leaves, and Jessica meets Mike on the sidewalk. They hold hands while they walk towards the house, but stop before they reach the front door. Brody looks away and reaches out for his cell phone as an excuse--he might be OK with it but doesn’t really want to see his best friend and ex wife kissing. He makes a brief phone call instead and they’re both long gone when he’s finished with the order. 

He then steps outside the vehicle and locks the car. Behind him, Frank, agent from the SS, descends the car too and Brody waves at him, a smile on his lips--they should be able to relax now. 

Brody heads over the house that used to be his, where he lived for as many years with Jessica before that final tour when things got out of hand, and feels uneasy ringing the bell. He sighs with relief when he hears Jessica promising she’ll be right there. It doesn’t take her more than ten seconds to answer the door. 

By her expression, she was clearly waiting to receive more bad news. She’s shocked to see him there and gasps, one shaky hand covering her mouth, looking around as if expecting the police or SS agents as well. 

“Brody,” she whispers. 

“Hey, Jessica.” 

“Dad?” ask Dana and Chris, popping out their heads from the hallway. Mike appears from the living room, all three just as surprised to see Brody as Jessica was. 

“Hey, guys,” Brody greets. “I just wanted to check if you were OK.“

“We are, Dad. Glad to be home finally,” says Chris. 

“I bet,” nods Brody. He looks at them all in turn one more time, just to be sure--but they haven’t been injured in any way. At least physically, of course, but after what they’ve been through, the trauma was to be expected. He breathes a little bit easier when she doesn’t see bandages or band-aids on either of them, no one limping, no crutches. 

After almost a minute of silent contemplation, he feels compelled to add something, anything really. And the first thing that comes to mind are the unbelievable news he’s received a couple of hours ago. “I’m not sure if you were told, but--”

“Abu Nazir’s dead,” Dana finishes for him, those words uttered out loud again causing his heart to skip another beat. 

“So they told you.” 

“Yes,” nods Jessica, crossing her arms. “Is that why we were put into custody? Is that why you’ve been working with the CIA? To catch Abu Nazir?” 

“Jess, slow down,” he begs, raising his hands and then dropping them. 

Mike, quite accurately, sends Dana and Chris to the kitchen, but then he steps forward, closer to Jessica, to do exactly what Brody wanted to do: caress her arm in a futile attempt to calm her as they listen to Brody’s answers. He drops his head and sighs. Does it matter at all now? 

“Yes. Yes it is,” he says slowly. Let the CIA arrest him for divulging this sort of information--they’d be thrilled for the opportunity. “He was planning an attack on US soil. The CIA asked me to help them to catch him, since I knew him. . . They thought I could be useful. And in order to help them I had to do some. . . Things. . . That I’m not proud of. I apologize.” 

“Walker?” asks Mike and Brody nods. 

“Not going to the metro police with Dana?” asks Jessica. Yes, Brody can understand she’d be most upset concerning his behavior with his kids. 

“Yes,” he nods again. 

“And you screwing that CIA agent was just perks of the job?” 

“Jess,” beg Mike and Brody at the same time, for everyone’s sake--no need to go down that road just so soon. 

She gives up the subject, changing weight from one foot to another, leaning on Mike’s touch on her shoulder. Luckily for everyone, they’re saved by the bell--and after a nod from Jessica, Brody opens the door. He was expecting a delivery pizza guy, but the black suit and tie surprises him too, especially when the agent’s holding the four pizzas he’d ordered. 

“Delivery,” he says with a warm smile. 

“Thank you, Frank,” appreciates Brody, taking out his wallet. 

“No need, Cogressman. We took care of it,” says the agent, giving Brody the four pizzas. “Good night, ma’am. Sir.” 

“You really didn’t have to--” 

“It’s alright, ma’am, it was our pleasure,” replies the agent. He exchanges one last look at Brody, as if to remind him they’re waiting for him outside, before he disappears out into the darkness. 

Brody holds the four pizza boxes until Mike takes them from his hands. It wasn’t a good enough distraction, as it turns out. 

“I just thought you wouldn’t have much in the fridge, after a whole week locked up in a safe house,” Brody justifies his ordering. 

“No, you were right. You saved us from eating biscuits and cereals for dinner,” chuckles Mike, opening the top box and smelling the pizza. 

“Dinner’s here!” Jessica announces in a yell, the atmosphere finally changing for the better with the appearance of the pizzas. Of course, Dana and Chris reappear within five seconds, attracted by the smell. 

“Pizzas?” they yell in celebration, taking the boxes from Mike’s hands. “So cool, Dad!”

“You’re more than welcome,” he says, with a broad smile upon seeing, finally, some happiness in this threshold. “Well, I’ll let you enjoy your dinner.” 

“You’re not staying?” asks Chris, forlorn all of a sudden. 

Hand on the doorknob, one foot outside the door, Brody freezes. He looks up at Jessica and Mike--the choice is theirs. He’d understand if it was too awkward just yet. 

“Sure, come on in,” invites Jessica, nodding towards the kitchen. “Dana, set the table.” 

“Mom, you don’t eat pizza with knives and forks,” complains Dana. 

“Yes, you do.”

As they make their way to the kitchen, Brody takes off his jacket, folds it and rests it on a chair. Feels a bit uncomfortable being a guest at what used to be his own house, but he isn’t going to mention that. Mike, perhaps in his same conundrum for acting as the host for Brody, takes a couple beers from the fridge and hands him one. They chuckle at their shared feelings and need for an alcoholic beverage to swallow the awkwardness down, toast silently hitting each other’s beers and then head for the table. Speed in the dire need of being fed, that’s the only explanation why Dana managed to set the table in record time, adding an extra chair for Brody as well. In the meantime, Chris is already inspecting the pizzas. 

“Uh-uh, this one’s all yours,” he scowls when he sees the olives. 

 

* * * 

 

Stuck inside one of the briefing rooms deep down at the CIA headquarters, Carrie’s trying her best to keep her head focused and maintain what little sanity she’s got still. 

She’s been checked out for a doctor--physically, for he couldn’t understand she’s in dire need of her medications--and then briefed for hours. Now she’s been on her own for who knows how long. Absentmindedly, she caresses the bandages on her wrists, going over all the events that have happened in the past 48 hours and still disbelieving the result. 

The death of Abu Nazir.

She’s given every little, tiny detail she could remember about the interview with Roya, the search of the compound and finding Abu Nazir. She hasn’t left out anything, except for Abu Nazir’s blackmail of Brody and his involvement in the death of VP Walden. She had to pretend she was never in contact with Brody throughout her capture. She’s not worried about that--who’s there left to contradict her statement? 

The door opens again, startling her tense emotions, but it’s just Saul. He’s carrying a bottle of water, which he lays on the table when he sits down by her side and gives her a big, warm hug. She couldn’t be happier to greet him. 

“You did it,” he says the words again, because they all need to repeat those time and time again today. 

Carrie sighs deeply, running a hand through her hair, speechless for once in her life. 

“You’re extraordinary,” Saul keeps going. “This will put you in line to be the youngest station chief in the history of the Agency.” 

At that, Carrie freezes. She’s had all the time in the world to ponder what’s going to happen next, but she didn’t consider what would happen to her here at the CIA from now on. She was more looking forward at range of possibilities this might give to her and Brody. And now, being told this. . .

Her keeping quiet is misunderstood by Saul, who chuckles under his breath and rests a hand on her cheek. 

“I’m guessing you must be pretty out of your mind right now.” 

“It still feels like a dream,” she agrees. 

“Well, you can bloody well believe it, because you have killed Abu Nazir,” says Saul, pride pouring from his eyes and voice. “How’re you feeling?” 

“I’m fine, Saul,” she promises, pushing his hands away when he checks her wrists and the bandages on her head. She does take the bottle of water and drinks half of it. “Tired, mostly.” 

“You go home and have a good night’s sleep.” 

“What about--?” 

“Don’t worry about anything,” he interjects, patting her gently on the arm. “Just go home and rest. You deserve it.” 

He gives her a hand to stand and then takes her to the parking lot, lending her his coat against the cold night, without answering any of the questions Carrie throws at him. The only subject he’s concerned about is if Carrie feels strongly enough to drive herself home. She promises him ten times over that she is and that she doesn’t need a chauffeur till he’s only partially satisfied. 

Actually, she is beyond exhausted and feels like she could drop dead at any second on her way home. The doctor didn’t quite clear her psychologically--not that he could, without knowing the specifics on Carrie’s condition, which she clearly didn’t give him--and she’s dying to take some of the pills she always carries in her car. Plus, having a chauffeur driving her home would mean more questions about Abu Nazir and she just can’t take it. She needs peace and quiet. She needs some fucking rest. She needs home. 

There‘s someone sitting on the doorstep of her house, in the darkness. He raises his head upon the car approaching and the lights shine over Brody’s tired and blue face, the tears in his eyes. Carrie parks in front of the house and goes to meet him, kneeling in front of him, a hand on his shoulder. 

He sees the bandages in her wrists and takes her hands ever so carefully. 

“Are you OK?” 

“I’m fine,” Carrie promises. “It doesn’t really come close to a hole in my hand.” 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. 

“You don’t have to be. You didn't do this.” 

“Didn’t I? If Abu Nazir had never captured me, if I’d never turned, if I’d never returned and hadn’t fallen in love with you, he wouldn’t have used you as leverage. You’d be safely away from the wreckage that I am.”

“Those are a lot of ‘if’s and conjectures,” says Carrie, sitting by Brody’s side on his same step, caressing his back. “You don’t know what could have happened if one single thing had been different, Brody. You’ll never know. There’s no point in wondering what could have happened. We just have to live with the consequences. 

“Plus, have you considered that you live with a wreckage too?” she adds, bumping gently against his shoulder. 

He doesn’t even chuckle at that. “Your so-called wreckage has gotten the world rid of the menace that was Abu Nazir,” he interjects. 

Carrie can’t come up with a good response and just keeps rubbing his back, hoping to give him solace, comfort, warmth and strength to at some point stand from there and get into their home. But Brody looks nowhere near ready to face that challenge. 

“Carrie, what I had to do. . .” he starts off, then his voice breaks and just drops his head against her shoulder. “It was you or Walden. It wasn’t even close. There was no choice to make.” 

“I know,” she nods--it would have been a terrible decision for anyone, and even if it wasn’t so terrible for Brody, he still killed a man. “I know.” 

He bends, rests against her shoulder and just lets go. He starts bawling his eyes out, inconsolably. She stays there in silence, holding him tenderly, knowing no words could ever bring him comfort. As bad and tired as she’s feeling, she knows he’s having it worse right now. 

It’s all over now, yes, they can finally sleep with both eyes closed, but Abu Nazir was never only a terrorist to Brody. He helped him. He saved Brody--broke him, as a matter of fact, to get his love and to get his allegiance. He was Brody’s companion, his savior, his mentor, his surrogate father for almost eight years of his life. He gave him another child to love and take care of and, although he’d never planned for that drone strike, he probably always meant to manipulate that twisted, sick love into his advantage. Use all of Brody’s prior training and knowledge for his fucking terrorist cell and bigoted, maniac plans to attack the US and cause dozens of deaths. 

But, as terrible as Abu Nazir was, he also was a guide for Brody for so long. So, his death is also a loss to Brody. And he’s not crying out of relief only, but out of sadness and pity too.

Holding him there, hoping no nieghbors will hear them and come by their place concerned and worried, Carrie whispers a quiet prayer. Brody tenses for a second when he first hears her speaking arabic, but then he understands and doesn’t interject her at all. It was not a prayer for Nazir, but for Brody, because she’s the first and only person in the world who’s going to give him time and space such a death. 

When she’s finished, a minute later, he seems to be doing a bit better--he’s not so tense, no more tears follow. Seizing the chance, she nods at the house and blissfully, he accepts to go inside. Upstairs in the bedroom, they both just surrender to the bed, exhausted out of their minds because of the events in the past twenty-four hours.


	5. Chapter 5

“Okay, Chris, so what’s the first thing you want to visit there?”

He doesn’t even need to think two seconds about it. “The Hockey Hall of Fame, of course!”

“Right,” scowls Dana, slamming the table with her fists out of exhaustion. “Since we’re going there for a whole week, could I please ask that it doesn’t turn solely into a sports visit, but also a cultural trip? What about the Ontario Royal Museum, or that would be too much for your IQ?”

“Dana, please,” begs Brody.

He’s the first one interested in keeping the peace, seated between Chris and Dana, as not to go deaf or prevent an assault. Raising his hands to hold both Dana and Chris back in their seats, he waits a couple of seconds to make sure no maelstrom breaks loose. Then, they return to the maps and tourists guides and must-see sights lists they’ve been compiling for the last hour. He’s finally taking the time to take his children to a trip, so they’re going to do this right, even if it involves a lot of arguing and headaches. After all, the planning is also part of the trip, he keeps telling them--and they keep rolling their eyes at his cheap Dad jokes slash wisdom.

“There’s time for everything,” insists Brody. “We can go to both the Hockey Hall of Fame and the Royal Museum. And I’m pitching in a personal favorite of mine: the CN Tower.”

“What is that?” they demand.

“Well, you see, it’s a structure--a building--very tall and narrow. . .”

“ _Dad!_ ” they complain at the same time, and Brody shrugs for being the victim of two fists bumping into his arms from both his children. He chuckles, rubbing the sore areas in turn, and turns on the computer to show them.

“It’s a radio broadcasting Tower,” he explains, “with a restaurant right up there.”

“Of course it is,” sighs Dana with a roll of eyes.

“And why does that interest you so much?” asks Chris. His question is only half genuine and half concerned in case he’s assessing his father’s finally lost it.

“Well, it’s a rotating restaurant, you see.”

“Great. So apart from vertigo, Dana can also get carsick,” scowls Chris. “I agree, Dad--it could be fun to go there, after all.”

“We’ll see if it’s so much fun when I puke all over your new sneakers.”

“You wouldn’t!” laughs Chris.

Dana addresses her brother a ‘Try me if you dare’ look and Brody sighs, preparing to cut short another fight. He’s already reaching to keep Dana and Chris in their seats to avoid they actually hurting each other, but right then an engine shatters the quiet late hours of the evening. Turning in their seats, they’re just in time to see a car pulling up, the front lights popping through the dining room windows. 

“Be right back,” says Brody, trusting his children not to kill each other in the five minutes he’ll step outside. “Why don’t you choose a couple more landmarks to visit?” 

Without waiting for an answer, he crosses the living room, the hall and stands under the threshold of the house. Waiting, he crosses his arms at his chest to keep body warmth against the unexpected chilly night--hadn’t realized how comfortable they were inside with the heaters on. Carrie parks her car, kills the engine. . . And stays there for some long seconds. She probably hasn’t seen Brody standing there, so he steps out and goes to meet her. 

“Hello,” he greets, knocking on the window car. 

Startled, Carrie lets out a quiet shriek, muffled by the shut doors and windows. As tired as she was two seconds ago, her head against the wheel, eyes closed, she draws the most beautiful of smiles when she looks up at Brody. Godsdammit, that smile could light and bright the whole world, Brody sighs, smiling in response. He leans to open her door and help Carrie out of the vehicle. 

They hug for some long beats out there in the crosswalk, suddenly forgetting the cold, the tiredness, the kids inside, the neighbors. Carrie hides her face into Brody’s neck, but he coaxes her out softly, turning his head to kiss her on the nose first, then the lips. A quick and chastising peck in case anyone were to see them, but warm enough. 

“Welcome home,” he whispers after they pull apart. 

“Never been happier to hear those words. Even when your kids sleeping in the next room will forbid us from having any fun activities tonight,” chuckles Carrie. 

Brody pulls away, taking Carrie’s coat and bag from the car and locking the doors, throwing the jacket over her shoulders even for the five-step walk that separates them from the doors. He carries her bag, his free arm around her shoulders. 

“Sorry to disappoint, but they’re not in bed yet,” he warns before they get inside. 

“It’s late,” complains Carrie--on behalf the children’s sake, not hers. 

“We didn’t know how long would you be. . . No offense!” Brody hurries to explain upon the hurt look on Carrie’s face--she’s had her share fair of people rubbing her crazy schedules on her face. “They honestly wanted to have dinner with you.” 

“I hope you didn’t wait for me,” insists Carrie, the hint of amusement on her voice. 

“They might be polite now and then, but they turn into little monsters if they’re not fed in time,” laughs Brody. “Sorry.” 

“No need to apologize,” replies Carrie as she opens the front door. The warmth from inside is a blessing, helping relax her tense nerves, and she breathes out. Brody can see her body language change as well as feel it, and lands a kiss on her shoulder on his way to hang her coat and bag. 

Carrie goes straight to the living room to greet his children--Brody’s almost surprised to see them both alive still. He’s spent almost all of five minutes outside with Carrie, after all. “Hello, Dana, hello Chris.” 

“Hi, Carrie.” They wave hello from the table. Brody takes his seat between the two back, letting Carrie lean against him. She takes a brief look at the mess of the dining table and shows a very little smile. 

“Planning your trip?

“Yes,” nods Dana.

“How’s it going?”

Brody’s answer is to chuckle, a desperate response that gets another small smile from Carrie. It doesn’t take a super CIA agent to know how nightmarish a discussion Brody’s been the victim of for the past few hours, and to understand why would the two kids still be up this late at night. She squeezes Brody’s hands for him to release her and she bends to check the papers. 

“Who’s winning?” Carrie changes her question, addressing now Chris and Dana.

“It’d be a fair tie, if you could convince Dana to visit the Hockey Hall of Fame,” says Chris, grabbing one of the tourist guides, open and marked on that particular landscape. Carrie takes a very brief glance at it. 

“All due respects, I’m going to stay clear of this,” Carrie chuckles. 

“Seriously? You hunt and face terrorists and all sorts of criminals for a freaking living and you won’t even take a stand against one of us?” demands Dana, amusingly teasing Carrie. 

“She’s smart, alright,” Brody interjects, winking at Carrie, before he addresses his kids again. “You’re scarier than any of the most-wanted criminals hanging from the CIA walls.” 

“And one gets tired of hunting bad guys all day long,” Carrie sums up the whole discussion, fighting a yawn. Brody squeezes her hand tighter, apologizing for keeping her away from her bed longer than necessary and also beckoning her to forget any manners whatsoever and go upstairs to sleep. Carrie accepts gladly. “Well, people who don’t work because it’s summer holidays for both schools and political parties. . . This CIA agent needs a few hours of sleep. I’ll see you later.” 

“Night,” Chris bids farewell. 

“Sleep tight!” adds Dana. 

“We’ll try to be quiet,” vows Brody, his voice soft and low already. Carrie lays her hand on his shoulder, knowing it was only a blank promise. 

“Just tell me who wins.” 

After Carrie crosses the hallway, Brody’s eyes following her until she disappears up the stairs, Dana and Chris return to their planning and tourist guides. They don’t get much work done from that moment on, however, for their father appears to be spectacularly uncooperative with the planning of their trip. 

In some silent agreement, Dana and Chris give him about ten minutes of snapping Brody out of his blur by yelling or hitting him in the arm before they give up. 

“Sorry!” apologizes Brody again. “Where were we?” 

“Should we go to bed too?” suggests Dana. 

“Aren’t _I_ supposed to be saying that?” laughs Brody, rubbing his eyes. 

“Well, you don’t seem much up to fulfilling your parenting chores,” agrees Chris. 

“Okay, then--up to bed, you two,” instructs Brody, using his commanding voice after all their complaints for him losing his touch at parenting control. “And no cheating: no reading or being on the phone. I’ll check in on you in a few minutes.” 

Since they’re already collecting all the scattered papers and everything they’ve been piling up on the dining table for the past few hours, he believes they’ll be alright on their own for a couple of minutes. He trusts, or hopes, they’ll leave the dining room in pristine conditions and abide all the rules he’s set for them. 

With that taken care of, Brody goes upstairs too. He switches the corridor light on before stepping into the master bedroom, opening the door just a notch. He assumed Carrie wouldn’t be asleep jut yet--there hasn’t been enough time--but in case she were, he wouldn’t want to abruptly wake her up with a beam of light directed at her eyes. 

His assumption was correct: when he turns around, Carrie’s reaching a hand out for him, inviting him over the bed. He takes her hand and takes it to his lips just as he sits on the bed, forcing Carrie to scoot to one side so he doesn’t drop all of his weight upon the poor woman. Tired as she might be, even when she comes back home in the early hours of morning, she always needs a few minutes to simmer down before actually falling asleep dead for good. Too many stimuli, emotions and thoughts from work for her brain to shut down on command. 

“Hey, you. Can’t sleep?” Brody asks sweetly. 

“Not without you, I can’t,” smiles Carrie. 

“Just give me two minutes and I’ll join you. Dana and Chris are turning in too--” says Brody, but he’s interjected by two soft knocks on the door. Dana’s head pops up from the hallway. 

“Hi. Did I wake you?” she whispers, looking at Carrie. 

“No, no you didn't, honey. What is it?” asks Carrie, forcing herself into a sitting position. 

“Chris thought you might be hungry,” explains Dana, opening the door a bit more to let her brother in. They’re both wearing their pajamas already, but they took the time to prepare a simple sandwich. In order not to bother them both too much, Chris delivers the plate and a glass of water to his father. 

“Why, thank you so much, you two,” nods Carrie, sitting on the edge of the bed, pushing away the blankets too in order to take the burden from Brody’s hands. “I really appreciate it, I didn’t get the chance to eat much at the agency.” 

“You’re welcome,” beams Chris, smiling proudly. 

“Well. . . Goodnight,” Dana bids farewell, grabbing Chris by the arm to drag him out of the bedroom. 

“Thank you!” adds Brody just before they shut the door. He’s also got a stupid, broad smile on his lips that he’s unable to erase as he faces Carrie, already gobbling down the sandwich as if it was the last bit of food in the entire world. Damn, now and then his children manage to surprise him. 

“They’re very nice,” Carrie praises one time she stops to breathe. 

“Don’t let them hear you,” begs Brody, gently bumping into her shoulder. “But yeah, they are. Certainly comes from their mother.” 

“Why, oh why, do you keep running yourself down at every corner?” begs Carrie, resting her free hand on Brody’s shoulders. “You should get half the credit, at the very least.” 

The man smiles politely, tilting his head to avoid Carrie’s eye, a bit embarrassed. He doesn’t say what’s really on his mind, that he should barely get a percentage at all in the way his children have turned out. Jessica did raise them for almost all their lives, Chris doesn’t even remember him from before he was taken. . . 

A yell coming out of the bedrooms make them jump and chuckle--who knows what’s going on with those little angels now. Brody reaches a hand and wipes the crumbs off Carrie’s lips to give her a kiss before he stands. 

“I’m going to check the first floor’s still there,” he suggests, taking the already empty plate and glass. “You go to sleep.” 

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” says Carrie, dropping on the bed again. She frowns and Brody lingers for a second more, to ease any worries that might have popped up on her mind now. “Although you do not need to treat me like a child, either. Especially not when your own kids are staying over.” 

“Wouldn’t say I treat you like a child, really,” replies Brody. He carefully kneels by the bed, his knees thanking the carpeted floor, and bends by the waist, leaning ever so close to Carrie’s lips again. “I wouldn’t. . . Do this. . . With any of my children, I can promise you.” 

As his breath warms Carrie’s lips, her own breath catches. He keeps leaning closer and closer, taunting, gleefully, until their lips almost touch. He then pulls away, laughing at the little moan Carrie lets out, and stands before her hands can catch him, pull him down and force him to finish what he’s started. 

“You’re mean,” she complains, dropping on the pillow like a dead weight. 

“No, I am not,” answers Brody, already by the door. “I just know that if we get started, you won’t get any of the much needed sleep you deserve, and since you probably need to wake up at an ungodly early hour, I won’t be the cause to deprive you of rest.” 

“Still claiming you _don’t_ treat me like a child?” demands Carrie, amused voice. Brody’s got one foot out of the dorm by then and can barely hear her poorly babbled sentence, half asleep already. 

“Sleep tight,” Brody bids farewell before shutting the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Probably will write more on C/B in the future... It's just painful to rewatch the tv show knowing how it's going to end and I'm still kind of in denial ^^"


End file.
